The Wayward Fox
by LordWelshi
Summary: One spring day, a fox arrives at Redwall, sorely injured and on the brink of death. He has no intention of harming any of the Redwallers, but is hunted by someone that will tear the Abbey apart to reach him. Can Redwall shelter the fox and survive?
1. Prologue

Hello there, Lordwelshi here with the start of a new story! I hope that this appeals to fellow Redwall fans, as I simply adore the series and wanted to tell my own tale in that fantastic world. I hope you enjoy, and I look forward to your feedback. Redwall and its world are copyright to Brian Jacques.

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The rain fell hard upon the stones of the small house as the wind howled outside, whipping the deluge into a frenzy of splashing raindrops. The sun lay hidden behind the dark clouds, shrouding the forest in a damp shadow. A hedgehog rose from his comfortable chair by the crackling fire, crossing the room and drawing the curtains closed, shutting out the dark, damp night. He yawned, stretching his arms out as his spines bristled. He turned back to his chair when a knock came at the door. Puzzled, he stepped over to the wooden door, opening it a crack.

"Tumble, you young rogue!" he said in surprise, opening the door fully. "Get in here and warm yourself by the fire! Dear me, your fur is soaked right through!"

The hedgehog ushered in a young squirrel, dripping wet, and led him over to the fire. "Thank you, mister Dib," Tumble said, wringing the water from his damp, red tail. The young squirrel shook his head, flicking water around the room. Some hissed as it splashed onto the fire, disappearing in a cloud of vapour up the chimney. "It's terribly wet out there."

The hedgehog left the room for a moment, reappearing with a flask of strawberry cordial. "Here, get this down your neck," Dib said, offering the drink to the squirrel. "What were you doing out in that weather, Tumble?" the hedgehog asked as the squirrel drank noisily. "This is no day for young ones to go wandering about."

The squirrel gasped for air as he put down the flask, wiping his mouth on his arm. "Aye, but there was something I wanted to ask you." Tumble shifted uneasily on the stone floor. Though the fire was warming him through, he felt a deep coldness in the pit of his stomach. His eyes flicked uneasily from the crackling flames to the kindly hedgehog.

Dib moved to his armchair, sitting down comfortably as he wiggled his back into the cushions. "Come now, Tumble, you obviously wanted to talk to me about something serious, otherwise you wouldn't have risked the storm to come here."

Tumble nodded slightly, his gaze held by the flames. "Aye, there is something I wish to talk to you about." The squirrel's mouth closed, not wanting to open again, to ask the question that was burning deep within.

Dib sighed slightly. "I have a feeling I know what this is about. It's about your parents, isn't it?"

The squirrels head turned to face the hedgehog. "Yes," he replied. "I…I want to know about them. I want to know what they were like before I was born, before they came to Mossflower." Tumble paused, turning his head away. "I want to know how I came to have two foxes as parents."

"Have you asked your mother and father about this?" Dib questioned.

"No. Well, I have tried once or twice, but father seems unwilling to talk about his past. And with the talk of vermin on the shores of Salamandastron again…" Tumble broke off, unwilling to continue.

Dib nodded in understanding. "You've heard talk of your parents, haven't you?"

Tumble nodded, tears forming in his eyes. "Some of the others say my parents are no better than sea rats!" he said, his voice strained. "And they say I'm just as bad, raised by foxes." His shoulders shook as the squirrel held back the sobs that threatened to rise in his throat. "They say I may as well have been raised by weasels!"

Dib rose from his seat, patting the young squirrel on the head. "Don't listen to them, young Tumble. They don't know your mother and father." He moved across to a cupboard on the wall, opening the small doors and withdrawing a small sack of candied chestnuts. The hedgehog offered some to the tearful squirrel, before sitting back into his armchair. "Your mother and father are goodbeasts, and have been very good friends to me and many of the creatures that live in these woodlands. Your father has reason to be reluctant in relating his past to you, Tumble. He was a very troubled young fox when he first arrived in these parts."

"Was he…a pirate?" the squirrel asked, chewing slowly on a sweet morsel.

"Goodness me, no!" Dib laughed. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Herbert said…." Tumble began.

"Ha!" the hedgehog snorted. "Don't you listen to that young fibber of a mouse. He's a bully and likes to spin tall tales." The hedgehog smiled slightly. "Speaking of tales, you wanted me to tell you of your father." The squirrel nodded, tears forgotten as he turned to face the hedgehog. "Well, I can't tell you of much before his life here in Mossflower except that which he's told me, and truth be told, he'd be better telling you this than me. But I can tell you everything from his arrival here, and how he came to the gates of Redwall Abbey, battered and on the brink of Dark Forest."

Tumble gasped. "My father was nearly dead when he was found?" he said in awe.

The hedgehog nodded, chuckling quietly. "I thought that would get your attention. Yes, when he arrived at the Abbey…well, I shall tell you the story from the beginning. Make yourself comfortable, young Tumble, this is a grand story. Now then, it all began many seasons ago, in the middle of the warmest spring these woods had seen for many a season…"

There came a loud rap on the door. Dib looked at Tumble. Passing over the bag of candied chestnuts to the squirrel, he stood from his chair, and crossed once again to his door. Opening it a crack, he looked out into the dreary, fading daylight.

"Ah, Bryn, I wondered when you'd get here. Come in, come in." The hedgehog opened the door wide.

A fox, his deep russet fur tinged with the tiniest hint of grey, came in through the doorway. "Thank you, Dib. Have you seen my son around?"

"That I have, my friend, he's sitting by the fire with his paw in a bag of candied chestnuts!" Dib chuckled, leading his friend over to the fireplace.

The fox crouched down by the squirrel. "Tumble, why did you go running off like that?" he asked, his tone firm but gentle. "Your mother's worried sick! I nearly had to strap her to the bed, she was so desperate to find you! I convinced her to stay home in case you came back and to look after your brother."

The squirrel looked down at his paws, not wanting to meet his father's eyes. "I'm sorry, dad, I didn't mean to worry you or mother," he said, his voice filled with sorrow.

Bryn smiled slightly, embracing his adopted son in a gentle hug. "Well, no harm done, just don't worry us so much!" he said. Drawing back, he looked Tumble straight in the eye. "Now, why did you come to visit old Dib then?"

Tumble looked at his father, turned to face the smiling hedgehog, and then looked back to his father. "I wanted to hear the story of how you and mother came to Mossflower. You wouldn't tell me yesterday, or when I asked you earlier, and I knew you'd been friends with mister Dib for many seasons."

The fox looked at his son quizzically. "What brought on such curiosity about mine and your mother's pasts?" Tumble wouldn't meet his father's eye, and seemed reluctant to answer.

"I can answer that, Bryn," Dib said. "I think your young lad has been receiving a bit of ribbing from the other young 'uns about his parents being foxes."

Bryn looked at his son. "Is this true?" Tumble merely nodded in return. The fox frowned. "Son, I had no idea. You should have told me. It was that Herbert mouse again, wasn't it? I swear, he's been nothing but trouble these last two seasons, I've got half a mind to talk to his mother." Bryn sighed dramatically, shrugging his shoulders. "I suppose the only way to cheer you up would be to tell you my story then, eh?"

Tumble nearly jumped with excitement. "Oh, yes, father, please!"

Bryn barked a short laugh. "Alright, son, get comfortable by the fire while I collect my thoughts." The fox turned his head to Dib. "That is, if my friend doesn't mind that I commandeer his home for a few hours?"

The hedgehog smiled as he nodded. "Go ahead. I'll head over to the Abbey and tell Aneira that you're both safe."

The fox nodded. "Thank you, my friend. Be careful out in that storm."

Dib laughed. "Ha, it'll take more than wind and rain to get to me!" The hedgehog pulled a thick, dark green cloak from a hook next to the door, threw it about his shoulders, and opened the door. "I'll see you two later, but right now I've got your wife's delicious oat farls to claim as reward for rescuing your son from this storm!"

"Pincushion!" Bryn shouted, hurling a stuffed cushion.

The hedgehog ducked out of the door before the pillow could hit him. "Fang face!" came the reply. The fox and young squirrel could hear the hedgehog's laughter disappear into the wind.

Bryn smiled to himself, shaking his head before looking at his son. "Well, Tumble my lad, I suppose I can't hide my past from you forever. There were things I went through that I hoped you would never have to endure, and I still hope that you never will. But I know now that you are old enough, and I can't hide my past from you." Bryn stepped across the room, and sank into the large armchair with a content sigh. Suddenly he yelped, jumping into the air. Turning, he winced as he pulled a spine from his back. "Oh, that hedgehog!" he mumbled under his breath as Tumble burst out laughing. "You can stop that right now or no story for you!" he growled good humouredly.

Tumble pressed both paws over his mouth, his eyes streaming with tears as he fought to hold back the giggles that threatened to rise from his throat. Bryn sank back into the chair, weary of further surprises that Dib may have left him.

"Alright then, so what exactly do you want to know?" Bryn asked his son.

Tumble sat forward eagerly. "How did you come to Mossflower? Were you really half dead when you arrived at Redwall? When did you meet mother? When did you get married? When did you adopt me?"

Bryn held up his paws against his son's stream of questions. "Ok, ok!" he chuckled. "I see you want to know everything. Well, listen close, my son, for I think you may enjoy this story." Tumble's eyes grew wide as Bryn's gazed into his memories. "It was many a season ago when I first came to Mossflower…"


	2. 1: On a spring morn

Redwall and affiliated characters are copyright to Brian Jacques. All characters in this story are my own.  
I didn't expect that many reviews so quickly. Wow, thanks peoples. I'm glad you liked that first prologue. So, here's the first chapter. I could have made this longer, probably split it into 2 chapters, but if I did that I'd be breaking the flow, since this was written all at once. But oh well.

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The woods of Mossflower were quiet in the pre-dawn light, the occasional song from an early woken bird sifting through the cool morning air. The stars were fading as the rosy light from the rising sun touched the sky with delicate pink fingers, hinting at the warm day to follow. The River Moss snaked her way through the forest, her gently flowing waters lapping at the banks as trout swam playfully through the shallows. The leaves rustled softly as a gentle breeze caressed the branches of mighty oaks and beech trees. 

Amidst this calm beauty lay Redwall Abbey, home to the mouse order of monks and to many beasts that called the forest their home. The Dibbuns, the young babes of the abbey, snored uproariously in their beds as the sun slowly crept ever higher into the sky, banishing the darkness of night. Hedgehogs and squirrels slept soundly in their beds, mice and otters slumbered peacefully in their dormitories. Few beasts were up before the dawn.

Friar Ginger, a portly mouse, made his way quietly down to the abbey kitchens, his paws padding softly against the cool stone floors. He rounded a corner, and nearly bumped into a small figure.

"Oh, good morning, Abbess Sorrell," the Friar said quietly.

"Good morning, Friar Ginger. Off to the kitchens to prepare breakfast?" the female mouse asked.

"Yes, got to get those fruit scones into the over, there's oatmeal to prepare, and butters to dish."

The Abbess nodded as she raised a paw. "I shall take your word for it, Ginger!" she said, smiling. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a walk out to the pond."

Friar Ginger returned the smile. "Of course, mother Abbess."

The mouse threw her hands in the air in mock despair. "Oh, stop that, you rascal, I don't feel old enough to be dubbed a mother yet!"

The Friar laughed as he continued on his way to the kitchens. The Abbess huffed to herself, before walking across the hall and to a doorway. She was past her younger days, but Sorrell was still fit and spry as anybeast. Sorrell often disliked the more formal title of 'mother Abbess,' preferring instead to be more open to those who stayed in the Abbey. As she stepped out onto the dew-covered lawns, she sniffed, and sighed contently. The scent of damp grass was a delicious aroma, one that the Abbess enjoyed greeting every spring morning. Sorrell walked across the lawns, passing the abbey gatehouse as she made her way to the pond.

She sat, staring into the cool, smooth surface of the abbey pond. She could see a fat trout lazing near the surface, his tail barely flicking as he floated there easily. "Sometimes I envy you, my large friend," the Abbess addressed the fish after a while sat in silence. "All you do is swim in your waters and catch flies, not a care in the world." The trout, as always, stared back noiselessly, his mouth opening and closing in silent reply. Sorrell shook her head. "Ah, but you're just a fish, and I'm an Abbess. I don't know if a trout would be accepted as abbot of Redwall. Anytime you want to trade places, however, just let me know." The Abbess giggled to herself. "I wouldn't mind lazing about in those cool waters for a day or two!" She stood, noticing the dawn progressing. "Well, my friend, it has been a pleasure talking with you, as always, but now I must attend breakfast. Good day to you," the Abbess said, giving a small curtsey to the big fish.

The trout, in reply, turned his head and gave a small flick of his tail.

"Oh, that's your answer to everything!" the Abbess chided the trout.

In the main hall, breakfast had been laid out upon the tables. Mice, otters, squirrels, hedgehogs and moles all sat, gazing longingly at the food before them: hot oat porridge topped with thin patterns of honey, steaming sliced bread covered in butter, fresh apple and cinnamon pie, and flagons of strawberry cordial and fresh sweet spring water. The Abbess sat at the head of one of the table, the large chair to her left seating the large form of the abbey guardian, Bella the badger. Abbess Sorrell stood, and every creature fell silent.

"Friends," she began, "we have had a beautiful spring, which will soon give way to summer. The seasons roll on, and our lives are happy and fulfilling inside our abbey. All are welcome here, friends and loved ones. I am pleased that we can be gathered here on such a wonderful morning with such a delightful spread from Friar Ginger and the cooks in the kitchens, and I am sure you will all thank them for their continuous work to prepare such excellent meals for us." Everyone in the hall gave their thanks to the friar and his helpers, who all blushed brightly at the compliments. "I can see you are all desperate to dig in, so I shall not keep you waiting longer. Enjoy your meal."

With that, the abbey dwellers dove into the food with gusto, the aromas proving too powerful to resist any longer. Bella leaned across to the abbess as she placed slices of nut bread onto her plate. "Why such a gathering for breakfast, Sorrell?" the old badger asked, reaching across to pour herself some strawberry cordial. "It's been quite a while since our last abbey gathering for the morning meal."

The abbess nodded. "Indeed it has, Bella, which is why I wanted to hold one. I enjoy these meals, with everybeast chatting and joking with each other." Sorrell looked down the table at two hedgehogs that were laughing at each other while stuffing their faces with porridge. "There's something so heartening about watching them all, seeing them so happy and joyous. No troubles at all."

Bella peered down at her friend. "Something troubling you, Sorrell?"

The mouse sighed. "I had a dream last night, Bella, a terrible dream. I don't want to relate it now, but maybe later. It just made me realise how precious these days are, and that we cannot take them for granted." The mouse looked up at her friend, and smiled. "But let's not ruin our breakfast over such discussion." With that, the abbess started shovelling bread into her mouth.

The big badger laughed to herself. Sorrell was still so young at heart. Her striped head snapped up as the door to the hall opened with a loud bang. An otter came running, panting hard and dripping wet. "There's some poor beast being chased through the forest by weasels!" he shouted.

The Abbess stood, trying to gain the attention of the chattering beasts. Bella stood, her voice roaring out into the hall. "Silence!"

Sorrell rubbed a paw inside her ear. "Yes, thank you, Bella. Friends, be calm. Stay in the Great Hall." She turned to look at the Skipper of otters as he trotted up next to her. "Skipper, I'd like you to take some of your otters and help this creature. Avoid fighting the weasels if you can, I don't want any unnecessary violence!"

Skipper nodded. "Yes, marm. Ruddertail, Finear, you're with me. Slings an' javelins ready, mateys, an' let's find this creature."

As the otters ran out into the bright morning light, the sound of loud hammering and shouting came from the main gate. "Quick as you like, lads! Up onto the walls there, looks like they're here!"

The fox was exhausted. He had been up since dawn, running madly through the forest as his pursuers found his trail. His fur was matted with sweat as he hauled himself onwards, not daring to look behind. He thought he had seen an otter as he crossed the river, but he couldn't take the time to check: as soon as he had made it to the far bank, two weasels had burst from the trees behind him, diving into the river waters as the fox had fled.

Even now he could hear the howl of the pack leader as the hunters drew ever closer. His paw clenched tightly over the hilt of his old sword, the short blade scarred in a dozen places. Ahead, the fox could see large walls between the trees. Almost not daring to hope, he put on a burst of speed towards the large building. Erupting from the trees like and orange streak, he dashed forwards, straight to the huge, wooden doors set firmly into the wall.

His fists hammered on the gates. "Open up!" he hollered. "Please, let me in!"

An arrow thudded into the huge wooden obstacle, and inch from his muzzle. The fox flinched instinctively. He turned to see the two weasels emerging from the trees a short distance away. Throwing a final, mournful glance at the unmoving doors, the fox turned to face the weasels, his face contorting into a vicious snarl as he drew his sword.

"Ha, lookit that, Stripfang!" one of the weasels remarked, drawing a curved dagger. "Caught between a rock and an 'ard place. Looks like 'e's boilin' fer a scrap!"

The second weasel placed his bow on the ground, withdrawing a short spear from the sheath on his back. "Aye, Tailbite, I kin see that! Shame ol' Gripjaws wants 'im alive, I got a terrible thirst fer killin'!"

"Just try it, scum!" the fox growled back, holding his sword level in front of him.

The two weasels ran across the short distance between the wood fringe and the trapped fox. Tailbite thrust forwards with his dagger, but the fox stepped to one side, catching the blade on his sword. The fox kicked out, catching the weasel in the stomach. Tailbite toppled over backwards as Stripfang leapt in, thrusting with his spear. The fox dodged as the sharp steel sliced through the air, barely missing him. He lashed out with his blade, slicing the weasel across the forepaw. Stripfang jumped back with a yell, before leaping forwards again. The fox, caught unaware, tried to turn the seeking spear tip with his blade, but was too slow: the razor edged metal sliced through his leg. The fox howled in pain, smashing his sword hilt onto the attacking weasel's head. Stripfang staggered backwards, stunned, as Tailbite returned to the fray. The fox, bleeding badly, panting and gasping, fought on, but his sword was getting slower. With a cry of triumph, Tailbite stabbed forwards, his cruel blade piercing the fox's shoulder.

The fox, with a final cry of agony, sank to his knees, clutching at the knife handle protruding from his shoulder, the sword dropping from his grasp with a clatter. As his vision dimmed, he could just see Tailbite and the recovered Stripfang moving towards him. He thought it odd that they should both suddenly collapse sideways, before he finally drifted into unconsciousness.


	3. 2: The Patient

**The world of Redwall is copyright to Brian Jacques. This is a fanwork in honour of his astounding series, and is making no profit for the author. **  
Wow, some glowing reviews from you guys! I'm glad you are enjoying so much! This chapter I'm not too impressed with. Keep in mind that, as I write this story (and there's a fair bit of it, you'll see) I may go back and edit some of the earlier chapters. But I always say that. Anywho. **Cloudedhorizon:** Thank you, I'm glad you are enjoying so far! And I'm glad you like Bryn. And I'm also glad you liked the fight scene. There'll be a few more of those somewhere along the line. **Saber-otter: **Thank you for the compliment on my writing style, and I'm also pleased that I've managed to grab your attention. I do hope you'll stay to the end of this story, because there are going to be some interesting twists and plotlines running throughout. **All my other reviewers: **Thank you for reading and commenting! On with the story!

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Skipper came in through the open front gate with a russet-furred fox draped over his shoulders, Finear and Ruddertail flanking him as he entered the abbey grounds. The gates swung closed, thudding heavily into position. The otter grunted as he walked quickly towards the main building. Abbess Sorrell opened the doors that lead to the main hall. She gasped as the otter leader passed her carrying the bleeding fox.

"What happened to this poor creature?" she asked.

Finear grunted. "Young Swiftstream was right when 'e said weasels were chasin' somebeast," he said. "'E just didn't know they were after a fox! We hit 'em with sling stones afore they could slay the fox, but they wounded 'im pretty bad."

Bella appeared, making her way past the tables that still lay laden with food. "I moved everyone to Cavern Hole," the badger said, before catching sight of the fox. A growl rose in the old badger's throat. "Vermin!"

Sorrel shot the badger a glare. "Bella, this is the one that was being chased by the weasels. Help Skipper get him to the infirmary, please."

Bella lifted the unconscious creature off the large otter's shoulders, and, holding the fox gently in her massive paws, nearly dashed across the hall and up the stairs leading to the infirmary, Skipper in tow. Abbess Sorrell looked across the great hall at the dark, crimson trail that led back to the doors. She shuddered.

"Ruddertail, Finear, could you please clean up that…ah, mess?" she asked, blanching slightly.

Ruddertail nodded to Finear, before hurrying off to get some cleaning equipment. Finear took the Abbess by the paw. "Come on now, marm, best not hang about in 'ere, eh? Let's get up to the infirmary, Bella and Skip should 'ave the fox there now."

The Abbess nodded as she allowed the otter to lead her up the stairs.

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"Good grief!" Brother Geoffrey exclaimed as Bella and Skipper entered the infirmary. "What happened to this fox? Get him onto that empty bed, please, quickly now!" The badger obeyed swiftly, laying the injured fox down on the white sheets. Patches of crimson immediately began to spread out across the clean linen. "Oh dear, oh dear," the mouse muttered as he opened a cupboard. He pulled out bottles of green and blue liquids, sprigs of herbs and plants, and finally a pestle and mortar. "Bella, grab some bandages from the lower left cabinet. Skipper, put some thyme, wormwort, and extract of marsh-root into that mortar please. Yes, the green bottle! Now mix them, quickly! We haven't much time!" The blood-stained otter did as he was told as the infirmary keeper bent over the fox, pressing a damp cloth to the large hole in the creature's shoulder. 

"I never knew a beast could hold so much blood," Skipper muttered to himself as he worked, shaking his head. "How is 'e still alive?"

"Quiet, please, Skipper!" Geoffrey said. "Is the mixture ready?" The otter nodded, passing the mouse the mortar that held the think mixture. "Good. Bella, the bandage, if you please? Yes, thank you." The Brother worked quickly, gently applying the poultice to the shoulder, before repeating the process on the injured leg. Geoffrey sat back, wiping his brow. "We were lucky that wound in his shoulder didn't shatter the bone," he said, dabbing at his brow with a 'kerchief.

The Abbess and Finear appeared in the doorway. Finear gently led the small mouse into the room as Bella and Skipper moved aside. "How is he?" she asked.

Geoffrey shook his head. "By rights, he should be dead; he's lost a lot of blood. I've stopped any further bleeding, and hopefully the poultice will prevent infection." The old mouse turned to look at the silent fox, lying pitifully on the now stained bed. "Now all we can do is wait."

Skipper looked at his paws, shuddering. "If you'll excuse me, I feel the need fer a bathe in the pond," he muttered, quickly exiting the room.

Sorrell moved to the side of the fox's bed. "Is there nothing else you can do, Geoffrey?" she asked the healer mouse.

Brother Geoffrey looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, before crossing over to the cupboard. "I think some fluids may help him recover from loss of blood. Now, where did I put that mint flavoured spring water?" the mouse muttered to himself as he rummaged through the shelves.

Sorrell placed a paw upon the fox's. The Abbess' eyes looked at the wounded creature's shut lids. "Why were they after you?" she asked quietly.

The fox remained silent.

* * *

Outside the great walls of Redwall Abbey, a slumped form groaned as it awoke. Stripfang opened his eyes. He sat up, rubbing at the large lump on his head. Standing, he glanced about, trying to ignore the throbbing headache that had lodged itself inside his head. 

"Gah, me achin' noggin'!" he muttered. Stepping over to the silent body of another weasel, Stripfang nudged the form with his foot, and was rewarded with a moan. "Git up," Stripfang growled.

Tailbite moaned as he sat up, his paw touching gingerly at a great red weal on his neck. "Urgh, what happened?"

Stripfang grabbed his comrade by the arm, hauling him upright. "I dunno, mate. I remember we was fightin' the fox, then I 'ad a pain in me head and everythin' went black."

"Aye, that's what I remember too," Tailbite said. "Ha, but at least we found our target, eh?" He looked around. "Er….where is 'e?"

Stripfang also cast about, searching for the creature they had fought less than an hour ago. "I dunno, mate, 'e's gone! Ole Gripjaws ain't gonna like this…" He was interrupted by a sharp squeal from his friend. "'Ey, what's up with you?"

Tailbite hopped about on one paw, clutching at the other. "Summin' struck me paw!"

Something struck the ground, kicking up dust as it skimmed across the grass and stopped next to Stripfang. He bent, picking up a small, smooth object. "'Tis a pebble," he said in confusion.

Both weasels turned their heads, looking up at the high, red-brick walls. A lone otter stood at the top of the battlements, whirling a loaded sling. "You two can clear off!" Swiftstream shouted down at them, ready to loose off his missile.

Tailbite was about to hurl an insult at the young otter, when Stripfang grasped his shoulder, shaking his head. "No, mate, leave 'im. We gotta report back to the boss anyhow, 'e'll want ter hear about this." Tailbite threw a final, withering look at the otter, before the two weasels ran off into the trees.

Swiftstream grunted, satisfied that the vermin had left. He stopped whirling his sling, putting the pebble back into the pouch attached to his belt. The young otter walked down the steps, and walked quickly across the Abbey lawns. Bypassing the orchard, Swiftstream made his way towards the Abbey pond. As he drew near, he could see the quiet bulk of Skipper, sat on the bank and watching the cool waters intently. The young otter sat next to the older figure.

"I kept watch on the weasels, just as you asked," he said quietly.

Skipper turned his head slightly. "Good lad. They left, then?"

"Aye, after I sent 'em a couple of partin' gifts," the young otter chuckled, fingering the sling on his belt.

Skipper smiled. "Ha, I'll bet they were none too happy, eh?" The older otter sighed, his gaze shifting back to the pond. The light from the sun glittered on the cool water, shimmering and rippling as the fat trout broke the surface, half-heartedly trying to catch a passing dragonfly.

"What's wrong, Skip?" Swiftstream asked.

"I dunno, lad," Skipper replied, squinting his eyes. "There's somethin' goin' on here. Why were two weasels chasin' after a fox?"

"Maybe he took somethin' from 'em?" the young otter offered.

Skipper shook his head. "I doubt it, unless the sword he was carryin' belonged to them vermin, and that's not likely by the looks of it. No, there's somethin' else they were after, but I can't for the life of me think of what it is." The otter turned to Swiftstream. "Get a couple of the lads up on the walls on watch. I have a feelin' those weasels will be back."

As Swiftstream ran off to follow Skipper's orders, the older otter once again turned his attention to the Abbey pond.

"Aye, they'll be back," he muttered. "I can feel it." Skipper shuddered as a sense of the darkness to come spread over him.


	4. 3: Ynalk Alkan

**Redwall and its world are copyright to Brian Jacques. All characters in this story are copyright to me. This is a fan work.** Well, mateys, here we are again, another chapter for you little lot to get your teeth into. I'm a little disappointed that I'm not getting more reviews: I do appreciate the ones I'm getting, but I was hoping for a few more by now. But oh well. **Saber-otter: **awkward phrasing is a habit of mine. Don't ask what it is, but there are occasions where my brain insists on finding the most awkward way of expressing something. Oh well. **Clouded Horizon: **AHA! I was wondering when someone was going to notice that. Have no fears, all shall be explained in time. On with the show!

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Tailbite and Stripfang moved stealthily through Mossflower Woods, the experienced trackers making little noise as they moved through the trees. The green canopy above provided shelter from the warm spring sun as shadows played over tree and bush. The sun began to set slowly, the sky turning a deep crimson. The beauty of the forest was lost on the two weasels as they made their way back to their leader's camp. Tailbite muttered quietly to himself, his constant grumbling grating on his companion's nerves. Finally, Stripfang whirled on him.

"Will ye stow the gab, ye bloody great fool! What's wrong wid ye?"

Tailbite glared daggers at the other weasel. "Ye shoulda let me stick that otter with an arrer!" he growled in reply.

Stripfang shook his head. "Listen, me ole matey, we ain't gonna start a war with somebeast hidin' behind a bloody great wall, right? Besides, Gripjaws wouldn't be 'appy with us if we dragged the whole crew inter a scrap!"

"'E won't be 'appy when 'e finds out we lost the target," Tailbite said quietly.

"Aye, well, there's nought we kin do about it now, mate. But if ye think about it, we ain't lost the target. E's gotta be in that big stone buildin', and 'e ain't goin' nowhere after that fight."

Tailbite's eyes lit up. "Aye, true. Them runts must 'ave took 'im in after layin' us low wid pebbles."

"Shut yer gob! Dun let the chief know we was clobbered senseless by a couple otters, right?" Stripfang growled. "We're meant ter be the best trackers in the horde, an' if Gripjaws finds out we was sloppy, e'll skin us alive!"

The other weasel nodded. "Aye, we gots a reputation. But what about that 'uge lump on yer 'ead? That ain't gonna go unnoticed."

"Good point, mate," Stripfang agreed, gingerly touching the large swelling. "Alright, 'ere's the story. We was chasin' that fox, an' we 'ad 'im cornered. The coward fainted at the sight o' us, an' just as we grab 'im, we gets jumped by a score o' beasts from that fortress, right? So we fights 'em, tooth an' claw, beatin' 'em back, but we gets jumped from be'ind, and clubbed with stones an' knocked out. Chief can't blame us if we was outnumbered."

"Good plan mate. You reckon the chief'll go for it?"

"Go for what, my friends?" The two weasels jumped at the smooth voice. A large, shadowed form stepped out from behind the bush he had used to conceal his presence.

"Oh, ah, chief, it's yew," Tailbite said quickly, his voice squeaking.

"We was just comin' ter report to yer," Stripfang added.

The beast threw back his cloak, revealing a large, black furred fox. He was muscular and powerfully built, much bigger than most foxes. His yellow eyes were sharp and piercing, never missing a detail. As he grinned, his sharp teeth glittered in the failing light. A wicked curved sword hung from his belt, a large, green gem imbedded in the pommel, the cross guard studded with smaller red stones. This was Ynalk Alkan, the feared Lord of the Black Gates.

"No need, my friends, I heard everything," he said, clapping them both on the shoulder. "I couldn't expect my trackers to fight off a score of armed fighters!"

Tailbite and Stripfang were shaking. They knew their leader all too well. He was acting friendly, but they could see in the fox's eyes that he was angry. They ducked down, bowing low to the ground before him.

"Chief, we're sorry! We let ye down!" Tailbite said woefully.

"We tried, chief, we really did, we 'ad 'im, but we was caught by surprise," Stripfang sobbed.

The fox smiled, a genuine touch of humour reflected in his eyes. "Rise, my trackers. I'm not angry that you lost our foe. No, not at all, you did well to gain so much ground on him in only the space of a day." His face changed abruptly as he dealt them both swift, sharp kicks, sending them sprawling back in the dirt. "But if I ever catch either of you stupid weasels calling me 'Gripjaws' again, I'll kill you both!" he roared.

The two weasels sobbed in reply. "Yes chief, sorry chief."

The fox was suddenly calm again as he helped the two weasels to their feet. "Now then, my two fine trackers, come with me. We'll have some roasted woodpigeon by the fire, and you can tell me what really happened."

Stripfang and Tailbite were led through a cluster of trees, and emerged into a large clearing. A stream flowed nearby, the water trickling and gurgling over stones. Camped on either side of the stream were the fox's gang, five score of foxes, weasels, stoats and rats. Some were sat around small campfires, roasting trout and woodpigeons, mixing assorted roots, fruits and vegetable to supplement the meat, while others were setting up tents and lean-tos for shelter. The big fox walked to the largest campfire, the two trackers in tow. He passed by the guards, foxes armed with large spears and long red capes. As Stripfang and Tailbite tried to follow, two of the guards crossed spears across their path, glaring at them.

"Let them through, they're my guests," Alkan said. Immediately the spears were lifted, allowing the weasels to pass.

Darkness was creeping over the camp, the fires casting their light across the clearing. Alkan offered each of the weasels a leg of roasted bird, which the trackers tore into with relish. The fox leaned back, spearing a slice of meat on a dagger and eating it slowly.

"So, what really happened?" he asked the weasels once they had finished their meal. "And don't give me anything about scores of armed woodlanders, I want the truth."

Stripfang and Tailbite looked at each other nervously, before the larger weasel spoke. "Well, chief, we set out an hour afore dawn and headed north, jus' as ye asked," Stripfang said. "We found our prey's tracks leadin' to a small stream. 'E must 'ave 'eard us comin' though, 'cos 'e'd already scarpered. 'E couldn't 'ave been gone long, as 'is supplies were all over the place."

Tailbite took up the narrative. "So we followed 'im. 'E was goin' north again, but 'e was sidetrackin' to the west. We knew 'e was tryin' ter throw us off, so we kept goin' north. We spotted 'im comin' out of a big river, so we dived right in an' gave chase."

Stripfang continued as his friend took a draught of spring water from a flagon. "Well, chief, we chased 'im through them trees, when we comes across this big buildin', an' the fox is hammerin' and wailin' at the door! So we closes in on 'im, and tries ter capture 'im, as ye ordered. Well, we 'ad 'im down, injured, but alive, when we gets 'it by sling stones an' knocked out cold!"

Tailbite spoke again. "Aye, an' when we wakes up, the target's gone, an' an otter starts 'ittin' us with stones again! We came straight back ter report to ye."

Alkan looked at the weasel pair before speaking. "You did right to come and report to me. Tell me, this large building you speak of, was it just a large house or an inn?"

Tailbite shook his head. "No chief, it were a grand sight. We couldn't see much from the ground, but from the looks of it, it were a big outer wall, with the main buildin' inside. Looked like a fortress or summin'."

Alkan nodded. "And tell me, what colour were the stones this structure was made from?"

"Kinda reddy orange, chief," Stripfang said.

The large fox grinned. "Well well, it seems you've found the famous Redwall Abbey."

The weasels' eyes widened in surprise. "You mean the Abbey what's stood against 'ordes of enemies?" Stripfang asked.

"Ally of the stripedogs an' 'are patrols?" Tailbite continued.

Alkan nodded. "The very one. And, from your report, it seems the Abbey dwellers have taken our prey into their home." The large fox stood, brushing at his legs. "Go and get some sleep, you two. Tomorrow, you will lead me to the Abbey."

The weasels saluted clumsily. "Yes, chief!" they said in unison, before leaving the fire and heading off to find a space to sleep, passing the unmoving fox guards.

Alkan stared into the flames, watching them flicker and spark. The fox smiled slightly, his fangs gleaming in the firelight. He spoke quietly.

"Tomorrow, I will find you. Your days of running from me are over. Sleep well, brother, for tomorrow you die!"


	5. 4: Burning

**Redwall and its world are copyright to Brian Jacques. The characters in this story are copyright to me.** Well, here we are again. The fourth chapter of 'The Wayward Fox.' I do so hope you enjoy it!

* * *

The morning dawned cold and sharp. The treetops glistened with droplets of dew as the rosy fingers of dawn's light caressed their leaves. The usual birdsong filtered softly across Mossflower, sweet and clear, ignorant of the danger that had entered the region. The streams still flowed, the fish still swam. A gentle breeze blew threw the forest, shaking small glittering shards of water from leaves, landing on the grass below like tiny diamonds. 

Skipper sat in the infirmary, looking out of one of the windows across the calm peace. The big otter sighed, rubbing a paw across his cheek. It was strange that, in the midst of such an unusually warm spring, this morning should be accompanied by such a chill. Skipper turned to look at the fox, still unconscious in his bed. The otter chieftain looked up as the infirmary keeper walked in.

"Ah, good morning, Skipper," Brother Geoffrey said as he spied the otter.

"Good morning to ye, Geoffrey," Skipper replied, somewhat surprised. "'Tis early fore ye to be up, if'n ye don't mind my sayin'."

The old Abbey mouse chuckled quietly. "Indeed it is, my friend, but who could sleep when we have a fox inside our walls? And, from young Swiftstream's report, I gather there are more vermin abound in Mossflower country."

The otter nodded. "Aye, matey, seems that way. I don't know how many, we only spied them two from yesterday, and they're long gone." Skipper's paw shot to his javelin, leaning against a wall, as the form on the bed groaned. "Is 'e wakin' up?" he asked, his eyes riveted to the fox.

Geoffrey shot him a glance. "Hush now, Skipper, and put down that javelin, he'll be too weak to move, let alone harm anyone."

The fox groaned again, his head twisting and turning as his eyes squeezed shut tighter. He whimpered as he thrashed about under the covers, the sheets rustling as he squirmed. Brother Geoffrey frowned, biting his lip as the fox groaned. Bending forward, the healer mouse placed his palm against the creature's brow. He withdrew it sharply as air whistled between his teeth.

"He's burning up!" the old mouse said anxiously. He turned to one of the cabinets and, removing a bowl from the cupboard, started pouring water from a jug. Taking a piece of cloth from the cabinet, he crossed back to the fox's bedside. Geoffrey began dabbing the wounded creature's brow with the damp cloth. "Oh dear, this is a terrible fever! Skipper, could you hold the damp cloth to his brow?" The large otter bent low, placing a paw gently on the cool material. Geoffrey quickly walked to the other side of the bed. Quickly unbinding the bandage around the fox's shoulder, the healer inspected the wound. "No sign of infection," he mused as he redid the binding. He quickly checked the wounded leg, but with the same result. The healer sighed as he looked at Skipper. "I don't know what is wrong with him. The wounds are completely free of infection and are healing correctly." Geoffrey shook his head. "I fear that there is nothing I can do. It's all down to him, now."

* * *

Flames. He was surrounded by flames, their terrible glow flickering, casting long shadows upon the leaf covered ground. He could feel the terrible heat, burning all around him to ashes. Beyond the fires, all was darkness. He was trapped in a ring of trees, homes, crops, all burning. And the screams. He turned, looking for a way out. There, between two large oaks, a path clear of flame! As he dashed towards it, he tripped over something. Falling hard, the air was knocked from his lungs. He looked at what had tripped him, and screamed. 

The still form of a female squirrel, clutching at the blade between her ribs, her life blood seeping out onto the ground. Cradling her head on his lap, the creature sobbed, begging her to wake up. Her cold, lifeless eye gazed upwards, unwavering, at the smoke wreathed branches overhead. The beast stood, his shoulders shuddering as he wept over the squirrel's corpse. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned back to the path between the oaks. He ran towards it, stumbling as he struggled to see through tear-blurred eyes. As he reached the grand old oaks, the beast paused. He stared in horror at the scene before him.

The ground sloped gently down to a circular area, marked off with stones. In the centre, a male squirrel was fighting a larger form, a black creature wielding a wickedly curved sword, the green jewel in the pommel gleaming in the fire light. The squirrel was snarling and yelling, attacking savagely with his own blade, but each swing, every thrust was parried easily by the larger, darker figure. The squirrel swept the sword back over his head, roaring with rage. The dark figure moved in a blur, striking at his opponent's belly. The sword dropped from the squirrel's paws, before he collapsed sideways.

"No!" the figure between the oaks yelled, sprinting down the slope. He dropped to his knees beside the fallen squirrel, clutching a paw in his own. "Father!" he said softly, choking back tears as the black creature stood watching.

The squirrel's eyes turned to look at his. "Son…I am sorry…I wasn't….strong enough."

"Hush, don't talk," the crouched creature said. "Save your strength. I'll get a healer and…"

"No, son," the squirrel said. "It's too late for me." The blood flowed from the gaping wound under his ribs. "I…want you to know…how proud I am of you."

Tears trickled down the younger creature's muzzle. "Father…"

The squirrel gasped, the breath rattling in his lungs. "Son…I want you to leave here…don't look back…go somewhere you can be happy…I love you Bryn…" With these words, the squirrel sighed, his eyes closing for the final time.

"Father…dad….please," the crying beast begged, rocking back and forth as he clutched the lifeless paw. Finally, he threw back his head, his muzzle opening as he let forth a howl of anguish to the dark sky.

The black figure stepped forward. The firelight glinted of smooth, black fur as the large fox addressed the weeping figure. "Come, brother, it is time to leave." A paw extended down to the crouched fox. Bryn slapped it aside as he leaped to his feet, glaring angrily at the larger fox.

"You murdered them!" he screamed as he shook with rage. "You killed our parents!"

The black fox laughed. "Ahahahahaha! Don't be stupid, Bryn! You are a fox, they were squirrels! You and I are of no relation to them, we have no link to those pitiful fools! Come now, Bryn, let us leave here."

Bryn picked up his father's sword, levelling it at the black fox. "Don't you dare use my name, Jonathan! You may not have cared, but I loved them! They took us in, sheltered us when we were mere cubs lost in the snow! How could you? How could you?" he roared.

The black fox narrowed his piercing, yellow eyes. "I have told you before, Bryn, my name is Ynalk Alkan!"

The smaller, russet-furred fox laughed, a tone of madness creeping into his voice. "Ynalk Alkan, is it? What is that, some warlord's name?" Pointing the sword at Alkan, Bryn's voice dropped to a low growl as the tears continued falling down his face. "You killed our parents. You don't deserve to live!"

Alkan chuckled. "Are you going to kill me, brother?"

"You are not my brother!" Bryn roared as he leapt forward, the blade slicing the air in front of him. Alkan shrieked, leaping backwards as blood splattered the ground. The black fox looked down at his pierced side. The sword had barely pierced the flesh, but Alkan stared in horror at the wound.

"You stabbed me!" he screamed at Bryn, his eyes flashing with fear and pain. "I can't believe you actually stabbed me!"

Bryn leaped forwards again, but Alkan faded into smoke. Bryn's sword passed through the apparition as he overbalanced and fell. The russet fox turned his head this way and that, trying to find his opponent, but Alkan had vanished. Bryn was in the centre of the circular field, the surrounding trees blazing as flames crept up their trunks.

"Where are you?" he screamed at the darkness. He received no reply, the only sound the crackling of flames. Bryn sank to his knees as fresh tears curled down his face. "Mum, dad…I am so sorry," he sobbed, "I couldn't stop him." The fox breathed raggedly as he cried. He suddenly wrenched himself backwards. "I'm sorry!" he screamed at the sky. Finally spent, he curled into a ball and wept as all about him burned to ashes.


End file.
